


This is 100% Diavolo's Fault

by Accusatori



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26979418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accusatori/pseuds/Accusatori
Summary: Turns out, trying to devour a parfait made for four people to eat over the course of an hour is not a smart idea when you're lactose intolerant. AKA I have Mammon brainrot & needed something to round out my word count for the day.
Relationships: Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	This is 100% Diavolo's Fault

Let the record show that this was in no way my fault. Regardless of what Lucifer or Mammon try to say, this is not my fault.   
I didn't even want to go to the circus in the first place, nor was I the one to order the damn parfait, and by the time Lucifer and I showed up, and it was already there, looking so damn delicious, and Diavalo was so nice, and how the hell was I supposed to pass up a challenge like that with Mammon AND Lucifer there? As if I could miss an opportunity to remind them who's boss.  
So really, this is their fault.   
I let my head fall back and thud against the cool, white tile of the House of Lamentation's first floor bathroom and think about all the ways I plan to curse the two of them once I stop hurling my guts out. Pictures of the seven brothers stare at me from the walls, and I grimace. I know they love each other, but did they have to put their family pictures even in the bathroom? Only psychopaths wanted their family's beady little eyes staring at them in the bathroom.   
Before I can finish my tirade against the demon brothers' decorating methods, another wave of nausea pushes its way through my body. It's all I can do to position myself over the toilet before I throw up another round of parfait. When the convulsions finally stop again, I lay back, exhausted. Tears gather at the edges of my eyes and I just want to sleep, but the constant roiling in my stomach prevents anything like that.   
"Tori? Ya in there?"   
Dammit. Mammon, at the door. He sounds concerned, but I'd rather not have him see me in this kind of state: hair greasy, nasty mouth, and positively green. Maybe if I don't say anything, he will simply... walk away.   
A moment or two passes. "Maybe she's not in here after all..." But just as he starts to leave, another wave overtakes me. Fuck. Not only does he know for sure I'm in here now, but he heard me throwing up--NOT a good look.   
"I knew that was you! All right, I'm comin' in!" The door swings open, revealing the white-haired, yellow-eyed second born demon son. His brows furrow, eyes filled with a mix of frustration and concern.   
Weakly, I throw up a peace sign. "What up?"   
"What the hell is wrong with ya?" He rushes to me, moving fast enough that my head spins.  
"Well, I seem to be throwing up quite a bit," I reply sarcastically.   
He rolls his eyes. "I can see that much! I mean, why didn't ya tell someone? How long have ya been down here?"   
I shrug slightly. "Didn't want to--" More puking interrupts me. Dammit, dammit, dammit!   
A hand softly rubs my back and with the other, Mammon holds back my sloppy ponytail. I'd tied it back just fine an hour ago, but it's since come loose, and I didn't have the strength to fix it. "Ugh," he makes a noise. "You have, um... in your hair..."   
"I know," I respond. I didn't actually, but I wasn't surprised. "Just leave it."  
"Then it'd get worse."  
"I know."  
I can practically hear the gears in his head grinding away. Smart and clever, Mammon nonetheless doesn't pick up on cues very quickly. A mixture of self-centeredness and naïve goodness paired with occasional purposeful ignorance gave him a reputation of a dunce, but I know he's way more perceptive than he lets on. And I hope he gets what I'm trying to say, here.  
The wave finishes, so I lean back, close my eyes. But Mammon pulls me next to him instead, so I'm leaning against his warmth, tucked in his arms, rather than against the clean bathroom wall. I let myself stay there for a second. Just a second. I know he should leave, and I hate every second that he sees me like this: weak, quiet, needy. I don't care which of them it is, I hate the thought of them seeing me for what I am--a human, a weak and vulnerable and dying human--but Mammon, my first protector... Maybe a few moments would be fine.   
His chest vibrates in a strangely soothing way as he half-whispers: "Ya dunce face. I was worried about ya, when ya took so damn long to come back from your room." His grip tightens. "Why didn't ya tell one of us? I can get ya some water, or I'm sure Satan or Asmo knows about some medicine to soothe ya stomach..."   
I don't say anything for a moment. My stomach still turns and twists, but I feel a bit better, here. "You didn't need to know."   
He scoffs. "Maybe we didn't need to know, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't have told us."   
The AC turns off somewhere, leaving us with an extra heavy silence in the bathroom. I can tell, from the way he's breathing--or rather, not breathing--that Mammon has more he wants to say. He's just trying to figure out whether or not he should. I don't know, honestly, what I should say in response to him, so I stay quiet and let him figure it out.   
It's been longer than a moment, but I only nuzzle closer to him. He's so warm... which right now isn't necessarily a plus. I miss the soft breeze of the AC, the way it cooled my heated skin without any of the bone chill the icy floor gives me. And the ambient noise was nice, too, gave my ADHD brain something to fill in the cracks between my thoughts and the floor.   
As I catch a whiff of Mammon's delicious-smelling cologne, it occurs to me that it must smell horrible in here. I've been sitting in it long enough that I can't tell, so I steal a look at Mammon's handsome face. It doesn't look overly crinkled, and it's more like his I'm-thinking-difficult-thoughts and/or his if-lucifer-doesn't-get-off-my-back-ill-murder-him face, rather than a -what-died-in-here-face.   
He sees me looking at him, and a gentle blush rises on his face, even as his blusters his way through another sentence: "What the hell ya lookin' at?"  
He's so close, I could easily kiss him. I would hardly have to move. But my breath is probably atrocious... I hide my face, hoping that my desires aren't written too clearly on it.   
"I know I should rely on you all more," I say instead. "But I didn't want to bother anyone."   
He starts slightly at the change in topic, but doesn't comment on it. Instead, the hand resting on my arm traces a gentle pattern across my warm skin. "You're never a bother," he says into my ear, voice low.   
The gentle caress of his breath sends a chill across my body--the good kind of chill. I try not to stiffen or tense or let him know in any way that his words affected me.   
He continues, and I know I didn't succeed, because there's a hint of a smirk in his voice, "You feel a bit feverish, Riyu... hot skin, red face..."   
Carefully, he places a finger under my chin and forces my face up so that my gaze meets his. My heart kicks into overdrive, beating like mad, and I can see the exact moment when he takes in my face and realizes what I just noticed--the scarcity of space between the two of us, the ease with which either could cross that space.   
His eyelids flutter.  
"Don't," I exhale.  
My eyes close entirely.  
A moment later, his lips press against mine, a bit chapped and warm and delicious.   
Just a slight, chaste kiss, but I want more--I want so much more. Only, of course, the universe is a cruel, cruel, place, and it decides to have a bit of fun with the two of us.   
I open my mouth involuntarily to deepen the kiss, and as I do, the nausea comes back in full force; with only a second to spare, I pull back from him enough that the vomit only gets all over him, rather than in his mouth. It's gross enough that I throw up again.   
Mammon's mouth falls open, shock widening his eyes. "What the hell!"   
I can't help it; I start giggling, even as I clutch my stomach in pain. "Your--face!"   
He looks absolutely peeved. Angry brows, shocked mouth, and a little pink still high on his cheekbones. "What did you expect?" I ask, through the laughter. "I have been throwing up since I left y'all earlier! Even the..." I choke on the laugh this time, then continue, "Even the so-called Great Mammon isn't immune to me literally being sick!"   
He grumbles, gets up. "Stay here. I'm going to get cleaned up, and I'll bring you some water." He scoots out of the bathroom, gingerly stepping over my laughing form on the floor. "And your toothbrush, because you taste awful right now."   
I shrug and struggle to sit back up, wiping away tears of mirth. "It's honestly your fault. Who kisses a sick person?"


End file.
